


Alone

by williamTspears



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Pigeons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 15:48:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2197581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/williamTspears/pseuds/williamTspears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was often said that William T. Spears lived out his immortality alone. This, however, was not quite on the mark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Scarves were known as mufflers until the invention of the car part sharing the same name.

It was often said that William T. Spears lived out his immortality alone. By the standards of his subordinates, that would have been considered true. He did not leave his house when he wasn’t on the clock unless he had to, he never attended social events of any kind, he kept relations in the workplace to an absolute minimum, and he was utterly and perfectly content in staying in those habits. Anything else would be out of his comfort zone and prone to more displeasure on his part than any “personal growth” anyone could have been hoping to get out of him.  
He wasn’t one for holiday events, either.  
For William, winter did not mean the approach of Christmas parties at the office, or giving gifts (although, rather annoyingly, he seemed to still receive them no matter how much he requested he not be given anything). Winter was the presence of overtime, miserable reaping conditions in the slurry of frost, and subordinates complaining about their workload. Further, winter was _cold_. He didn’t like the idea of wearing anything but the standard uniform, and having to add a muffler or the like was just a bother.  
He still did, but it didn’t mean he liked it.

Through some magnificent stroke of luck, on the later end of November, William had found himself able to leave Dispatch and get home at a reasonable hour; it had been an absurdly slow day, especially for winter.  
He entered his flat, put his muffler away, and went through his nightly routine of making tea and checking the study.  
The study being the only room in the house with an appropriate window, it had come to house his pets. William would not refer to them as pets, exactly, nor friends. Companions seemed the best term. It was common in the realm of the reapers for someone to have the ability of communicating with certain species of fauna. There was no term for this ability, so colloquially(and very incorrectly), the animals had come to be known as a reaper’s familiars.  
A silly notion, and highly inappropriate; true familiars were demons. _Disgusting_.  
William would never use the term ‘familiar’ to describe his companions, nor had he ever in the past. He considered himself lucky for having the companions that he did. They were quiet, unobtrusive, and loyal helpers. He had range, too. Columbidae, of any kind, he could freely communicate with. It was because of this that he had many companions that would flit in and out of his study, to rest, to feed, or to help in his work.  
He liked his companions more than he would openly admit, and it almost could be said he prided himself on his extensive knowledge of their species… knowledge of Aves in general, to be perfectly honest. Columbidae were simply his specialty.  
It was fortunate he was in the habit of checking the state of his study so immediately, as, despite the qualities of the window’s opening mechanism (lifting outwards from the bottom), wind was pushing snow into the room in horrid little flurries. None of his companions would be making their way to his flat tonight if they hadn’t already done so, so the window was quickly closed and set right. The room was still nigh freezing, and tonight’s set of companions had huddled themselves all on one perch, sandwiched together as tightly as possible.  
Honestly, such silly things they were to never think to move to another room. A cursory petting of one of them revealed that they were almost as cold as the study itself. They were hardy creatures, yes, but (and this he would admit to himself) he was rather prone to spoiling them.  
Only because they completed their set tasks with more dignity and efficiency than any of his co-workers ever would, of course, they deserved to be treated well.  
At least that was what he always told himself.  
And his companions were never averse to being pampered or spending time with him.

With his course of action firmly decided, William left the study to collect all the old worn out mufflers from seasons past and some of the more garish ones that had been “gifted” upon him by none other than one Grell Sutcliff- as if he would _ever_ wear anything so horrendously red, honestly- and arrange them suitably on the sofa. Faux-nests, with high sides and plenty of room for more than one to fit so they could share their body heat.  
With that accomplished, he plucked each from their perch as gently as possible, fitting as many in his arms as he could, and carried them out to the mufflers, which they took to quite enthusiastically. Another trip back and forth, arms laden with them, and they were all nestled comfortably on the left side of the sofa, cooing their gratitude.  
His tea had likely steeped for too long. He didn’t particularly mind, his companions were more important than a drink.

A couple of minutes later and William had joined the birds on the sofa, the cup of slightly overdone tea creating warm wafts of steam which brought small patches of fog to his glasses, disappearing as quickly as they came. A small coo sounded, and he found himself with weight on his lap, one of his companions having decided that sitting there was more ideal for the moment. Another soon followed, but no more, as most had fallen asleep almost instantly. If one were brave enough to look closely, they might think that there was the barest hint of a smile playing in the corner of William’s lips, but that would only be conjecture. What was not conjecture was the absolutely content nature in which he sipped his tea, perfectly at ease in this environment.  
It was often said that William T. Spears lived out his immortality alone. Those who said so, however, would be wrong, no matter what their standards of “socialising” entailed. He had his pigeons, and that was all he needed.


End file.
